The High Road
by Aromene
Summary: Sometimes a funeral is more about the things we do for the living, then the things we do for the dead.


**Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis (and the entire Stargate franchise) belongs to people who are not me.**

**AN: I say it quite a bit, but this time I really mean it: this story is all Kate's fault. Because she gets gleeful pleasure out of reminding me at every opportunity that **_**Sunday**_** was not just a horrible nightmare. She finally stooped low enough to spawn this. **

He's pretty sure that this is ten times worse than the day he buried his mother. For one, they'd never gotten on well and by the time she'd gone to her grave he'd basically detested her for not being the kind of mother he and Jeannie deserved. Secondly, this time it is a mother burying her son.

John had offered to come, but they'd both known that it wouldn't be appropriate. One stranger bringing a much-loved son home is enough. But Rodney is still grateful that John had asked. He had wanted to say yes, because then there would be someone there; someone to stand behind him when he had to lie through his teeth to a woman who deserved to know the truth. But he knows he has to do this alone.

John's last words to him before he boarded the plane had been a simple "_it wasn't your fault"_ and Rodney knows he was trying to say that he didn't have to take Carson home as some sort of penance. It hardly matters, because it is Rodney's duty and honour to do it anyways, even if John's reason is closer to the truth.

When the plane touches down in Glasgow it is sleeting rain outside and Rodney knows it is typical for February, but some part of him wants to believe it is because the heavens are weeping too. It is the least Carson deserves.

The SCG has arranged everything, and so Rodney just stands dumbly nearby and oversees the moving of the coffin into the hearse and tries not to recite the speech he's written in his head on the flight over one last time. He just slides into the waiting car and pretends the reason he is shaking is just the cold weather.

They get to the funeral home much sooner than he is ready for. And despite the pouring rain it looks like half of Scotland is waiting outside. Rodney's stomach clenches in a way it hasn't done since his first dissertational defence and progresses instantly to nausea when he lays eyes on Eileen Beckett. Carson has shown him enough pictures of his mother – his sweet, kind, wonderful mother – that Rodney would recognize her anywhere.

It takes more courage to open the car door than he thinks he has. And then, just as suddenly as lightning striking, Mrs. Beckett is enveloping him in a bone crushing embrace and it is all Rodney can do not to just break down right there on the sidewalk.

"Thank ye for bringing him home."

Rodney has absolutely no idea how to respond to that that doesn't involve confessing his sins. But there are people all around him and they are sad and welcoming at the same time and Rodney feel _home_. And God, he doesn't deserve any of it.

There is a visitation that afternoon, but Rodney can't bring himself to be around that many people and so he flees before he is cornered and asked to stay. He locks himself in his hotel room and pretends he isn't barricading himself against the world.

It is the knocking on the door that wakes him, some sixteen hours later. He is firstly shocked he has slept so long – finally – and secondly surprised anyone would be knocking on his hotel room door.

He really shouldn't have been so surprised. He's said a grand total of five words to Mrs. Beckett the day before and she deserves about 50,000 more. Probably a million; every word penance for Rodney's mistakes, but neither of them had the time.

He tells her every word he is allowed to say and some they haven't told him otherwise. And she listens and she cries and when he is done she _thanks_ him, and Rodney fights back tears and confessions with all the strength he has.

"I've brought something for ye. A gift, of sorts. I'd like ye to wear it tomorrow. I – I think it might be good. For ye." Rodney knows where she is heading before her fingers finish unwrapping the parcel and blue wool spills out. He's seen the McKay tartan before; Jeannie had once been obsessed with their Scottish ancestry and he remembers making more than one crass comment about men who wear skirts. He's made the same comments to Carson. God, wasn't he living to regret those.

"It's tradition, lad. Twill be a Scottish funeral and all. Would ye?"

Right, because Rodney is going to say no to a grieving mother who is about to bury the son he has killed. He takes the kilt and thanks her and manages not to break down until after he's closed the door behind her.

The next morning, after he's showered and shaved, he wraps the length of blue plaid around his waist and remembers Carson.

That afternoon when they play Loch Lomond as Rodney watches Carson's brothers carry the casket out of the church, he sings softly under his breath and thinks, maybe, he understands the Scots more than he thought.

"_For you'll take the high road,  
And I'll take the low road,  
And I'll be in Scotland afore ye."  
-Loch Lomond_


End file.
